As all shall end in flame
by REDlettersociety
Summary: With his bindings broken, his wrath shall be unleashed. It shall wreak havoc on all who have ever dared to steel from him, to slip from his grasp, the things he holds dearest. For the mind of a child is a fragile thing, take what it loves and you shall be forever damned to the depths of their hate.
1. As all shall end in flame

Everything stopped in that instant. The moment that death claimed her prize and the lifeless body fell to the floor. Everything stopped. Harry's heart stopped beating, his train of thought came slamming to a halt. No more spells or strategies to counter his duels. Everything melded together. His muscles gave way, strained from the tireless battle. He was so tired of fighting, so ready for it to end. He found himself kneeling next to the lifeless body of his last remnant of family. Rage and despair flooded his mind. Intertwining and warring for control. Rage demanding payment for the ones he lost while Despair invited him to stay close, clutching tightly, the empty shell that lay before him. Glancing down at his godfather, Guilt joined Rage and Despair. Guilt whispered in his ear, telling him wordlessly that this had been his fault. If he had done as told and stayed put, then Sirius would not have met his end. His Rage swelled, targeting his heart and adding to Guilt. Rage insisted that he had no other choice but now he himself was only to blame.

The moment of control had come and gone. His silence shattered at the words that sang through his ears and tore at his heart. "I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK!" stained his mind. He told his Guilt and Rage that he had not been the one to fire the spell but Guilt and Despair chimed in unison, insisting that he had set the target firmly on his friends, his family, all that he loved and now Death had collected.

"I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK!" the words echoed soundlessly through his mind, scarring his soul. The words were not his but he shared in the guilt of their declaration.

Rage itched at its restraints, begging to be let loose, to enact his darkest thoughts, to punish those who had taken from him what little he had left. To finally find some release.

Rage spilled over his mind, feeding from Guilt and delighting in Despair. Rage whispered sweet nothings in Harry's ear. Promises of all he would do to sew shut the gaping whole that had been gouged into his soul. It promised deliverance of those who rightfully deserved to burn on Deaths doorstep. All he had to do was relinquish control. Give up his last inch of restraint and give in tenfold what the world had dealt him. It promised an end to everything Harry hated, no more dark lord, no more death eaters, vengeance for his family, for his friends, for a childhood of which he had been robbed.

It promised Harry the protection he desired, the comfort he deserved. Guilt and Despair sided with Rage, they whispered for their release.

An echoing scream that spoke of Rage, layered with guilt and laced in Despair, tore itself from Harry's shaking body. The contract had been revoked, his restraint released.

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From the moment that Bellatrix Lestrange had roared the killing curse to Harry falling to his knees at Sirius' lifeless side, the air had changed, pregnant with a power that only those who knew The Boy Who Lived had ever felt. To an outsider it would look like a momentary standstill between warring factions while a boy grieved, but something spoke danger to everyone in the immediate vicinity. The silent reprieve had held until the witch sang "I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK!". Proudly she danced before aiming her wand at the weeping child.

At the realization of what was to occur, many from the light sprang to action. Spells died on the lips of the many as the air turned violent and explosive.

* * *

A/N: So it's been quite a while since I've put anything on here. been reading tons but not really contributing. so this is something to wet your appetite. if you like it, let me know and there will be more. )


	2. Some call it revenge

August 1st, 1989

Harry Potter had some how managed to piss off his uncle once again. His crime this time had been more "freakishness" as his uncle Vernon had taken to calling it. Simply all that had happened was his hair had grown. Oddly it had grown far too fast for it to be normal, especially for an overnight affair, but all that had happened was it had grown.

The day prior had been Harry's ninth birthday and his aunt had taken notice of him the moment he had been roused from his cupboard beneath the stairs. His normal morning routine had been to wake, make breakfast, not burn the food, make coffee, and plate the meals for his overly generous family. Please note the sarcasm. No loving family treated a child this way. Or at least that was the conclusion he had come to. He knew he was mistreated and underfed. He hated his loving family, but in reality, what could he do? He could run away but he had no money nor the means to get very far. He had tried to bring up his home life to his teachers but when faced with questions from the school and concerned instructors, Vernon solved his problem before it could become a nuisance. He did the only logical thing he knew, he simply withdrew Harry from schooling and blew smoke in the face of every curious instructor or official that had inquired as to his sudden withdrawal. But he had managed to cover that as well, saying simply that Harry's grades were poor and his attention span small so it would be easier if he were home-schooled.

The day he had been withdrawn from primary school was the day it had all gone down hill. It was the first time his uncle had ever lay hands upon him. Obviously, Vernon being the astute man he was, never hit Harry where it would show and raise questions, so he took to starving the boy far more than normal and when provoked, which was always, Vernon would aim for the chest and abdomen, reasoning that if it was out of sight, it was out of mind. So on that first day, Harry had earned his first broken rib. The following day he had been given his usual list of chores and an extra work load that simply seemed unattainable. For every missed chore he would lose another meal, for every finished chore, he would gain accusations and punishments, claiming he was not doing them by himself and had been using more of his "freakishness" to expedite the process.

And so the year had continued in this fashion. Vernon would leave an obscene amount of work to be done before he returned home and Harry would work his fingers to the bone in attempt to complete them. He never Strove to accomplish more than he had done on that first day, for he knew that if he did, he would be beaten and then given more work the following day. He would be fed once or twice a week or when he looked as though he might finally drop over from exhaustion.

His first broken rib had been several months ago as the summer now drew to a close and his birthday had just passed. So here he was being dragged up the stairs by his upper arm which twisted in pain under the ever tightening grasp of Vernon Dursley. The journey seemed to last a life time as though every step was another step towards his doom. Finally they reached their destination, the spare bedroom which had been used since birth to house all of Dudley's forgotten toys. The irony, that the room fit for cast-offs had become his own personal hell, seemed simply poetic. The room where all things deemed unworthy would find their end had become the soon to be end for the small boy who had been deemed unworthy for a fitting life. Deemed unworthy of love, of compassion and happiness, of a loving family who called him their own. He had become the cast-off and now he prayed for the day when Vernon Dursley would simply forget his existence in the room of forgotten toys.

* * *

Harry potter landed on the floor in the spare bedroom with a sickening crunch as Vernon had tossed him from the doorway. Calling to his darling wife that he would be up to bed in just a few moments, as soon as he took care of the boy, that is. From the door he turned his putrid gaze upon the sobbing form that lay on the floor. The vile grin that held grim thoughts for poor Harry, sprang across the largest Dursleys face as he closed the door behind him.

Harry felt the pain grow in his right shoulder and instinct told him to move all excess weight from the broken limb, but he knew better. He knew that the moment he moved, his uncle would strike and that would only mean more pain for him. More pain than was necessary.

As Vernon strode to the ward that had infected his seemingly perfect life little over eight years ago, he raised his foot and used it to roll the boy onto his back. The moment he heard the boy grunt in pain, realization had dawned that he had broken something and he nearly danced with glee. He delighted in the knowledge that this useless little whelp was in pain. With that knowledge, he proceeded to dole out fair punishment for the boys "freakishness".

As the first kick landed, square in the ribs, a niggling little thought grew in the back of Vernon's head, a voice telling him that this would not bode well for him. That he should stop now and take his family and run. But Vernon Dursley, being the ever astute man he was, squashed the thought as the second kick landed.

Harry lay hunched over when a single foot rolled him to lay flat on his back. Now the whale of a demon stood, towering over him. His gut far exceeding that of his waste, his face seemed a burnt red, perhaps with rage, or maybe it was with joy. The common problem with Vernon Dursley was that when mad or happy, his face turned a dark shade of red, and now Harry could not discern one look from the other. And so fear grew in him as either emotion would mean pain for him. The only thing that seemed to make Vernon happy was Harry's pain, and the one thing that ignited his rage, was the boy and his antics.

As a single foot raised, Harry did the instinctual and lifted his arms to cover his face, only to realize his mistake, moments too late. As pain sprouted in his right shoulder and his left side simultaneously, Harry remembered that his uncle was not a fair man and seemed to go for any opening given to him. He let his right arm drop back to the stained carpeting in time for a second kick to be planted along his ribs in nearly the same spot as the first one.

* * *

A single voice seemed to be Harry's savior as it brought Vernon from his stupor.

"Vernon! Remember the rule, do not draw blood!" Petunia Dursley spat from the door. She had come looking, curious as to what was taking her husband so long, only to find the boy curled in on himself as Vernon kicked at him. For a single moment they resembled a boy and a ball before she had snapped back to herself and taken in the scene before her. If blood was spilt, there would be hell to pay.

Finally deciding that he had taught the boy some nameless lesson, he grabbed him by his arm, the same one he had landed on and proceeded to drag the boy down to the boot cupboard all the while reminding the boy that he was unloved and that he had been left to them for a reason. That his parents were dead and that no one would care if he disappeared from the face of the earth. So if he cared to continue his pitiful existence, he would stop his "freakishness" or there would be more to learn in the future.

As Harry was dropped in a painful heap, Vernon slammed the door and quickly latched it. "Your own parents didn't even love you enough to live for you, stupid boy" were the last words hissed at him through the vent before that too was slammed shut and thundering steps could be heard as the obese man made his way to bed.

Those final words stung Harry to the core, eating at every last bit of restraint he had left. He hated his loving family, every single one of them. His Aunt who only ever stood by and watched, his stupid cousin who took part in the fun, even going so far as to get his friends to go Harry hunting. He hated the demon Marge who only encouraged Vernon in his never ending quest to end the boy, and he absolutely loathed the man who thought it perfectly fine to starve children and use them as a beating bag.  
As the small boy lay in his cot, nursing his shoulder which spoke pain he never felt before and bruised ribs which could easily be broken ones instead, he wished for it all to end. He wished his wounds to be fatal and for everything that had gone wrong in his life to simply stop. He wished for peace, for happiness and love, he wished to join his mother and father, for even if they were dead, surely they loved him more than this, surely they did not wish this existence on him. As the pain grew in his shoulder and his ribs, he wished that his purely demonic family could feel every ounce of pain he had felt over the past months. The fractured bones, the hunger pains, the ever growing exhaustion, he wished it all on them and he wished for them to burn in hell.

Tears threatened to spill over as the pain claimed young Harry and pulled him into the sweet abyss. As he was swept away, a single tear rolled down his cheek and splashed heavily onto the carpet below, igniting a small green flame the moment it touched the magic soaked fibers.


End file.
